


But I'm a man who needs to hope

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Jon Snow, Post-Series, Vaginal Fingering, mix of books and show elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: Sansa’s throne however, was a different concern. Bran had removed himself from the line of succession and claimed he would never marry or father children. Rickon had become too wild and they had allowed him to remain in Skagos with Osha. The fate of House Stark rested upon Sansa and Arya. And now that the White Walkers were defeated and peace was upon them, the Lords were rightly concerned about the future and the continuity of peace. Without an heir, chaos could easily rise up once more with distant relatives all vying for a claim of Winterfell and the North.Jon understood why Sansa was inviting Lords to Winterfell, the logical part of him agreed that securing a marriage and producing heirs was needed in order to stop panic and to stop any possibility of yet another war over the succession.He understood it but he didn’t have to like it.





	But I'm a man who needs to hope

**Author's Note:**

> Response to anonymous tumblr prompt: Can I please request for a fic postboatbang where Sansa is to marry to secure her position and we get jealousJon who is 50% glaring at her suitors and 50% trying to seduce her. Fluff and filth though more filth please.  
> Well this actually became more fluffy than filthy to be honest but I hope the anonymous prompter still likes it!  
> Title from the song Forgiven by Kwabs

He had no right whatsoever to act this way. The logical part of him accepted that. He had lain with Daenerys after all and not had the decency to offer marriage first. He could hardly tell Sansa that she was wrong for doing what she was.

Especially since the truth of his heritage had been revealed. Sansa had done her best to appease the Lords and assure them that Jon was still loyal to the North. At first, according to Arya, it seemed to have worked for they had stopped complaining about his choice to leave anyway. Until the word got out that he had bedded Daenerys, his aunt.

Sansa’s face upon hearing the news was worse than anything the Northern Lords had said to him, either to his face or behind his back. Even Arya had withdrawn from him for a few days but eventually, she had come and spoken to him. After reassuring her that he was not going to lie with Daenerys again and would not be marrying her, Arya had embraced him and told him she forgave him.

Daenerys had not taken well to his decision to stop what they were doing. She tried to explain that Targaryen’s wed brother and sister for years and Jon had managed to refrain from saying that he had no wish to be a Targaryen in any way, not even by the blood he couldn’t change. Instead, he just stood firm and told her as gently as he could that it was over.

After the war, after Daenerys’ death, the North had warmed to Jon once more although they still chose Sansa as their Queen. Jon had no issue with that, he was happy to be Commander of her Kingsguard.

Except, the iron throne was abandoned.

There were calls for him to go south and take it, calls he had so far ignored or politely declined, depending on who had asked. He had no desire to leave Winterfell again, to leave Ghost or his family again and especially not to leave Sansa.

He cared not one bit whether Shireen Baratheon took the throne or one of Robert’s legitimised bastards. Although, he would rather it be Edric in that case as he would be loathed to see Arya and Gendry parted again. After all, Arya would not leave Winterfell again any more than Jon would.

Sansa’s throne however, was a different concern. Bran had removed himself from the line of succession and claimed he would never marry or father children. Rickon had become too wild and they had allowed him to remain in Skagos with Osha. The fate of House Stark rested upon Sansa and Arya. And now that the White Walkers were defeated and peace was upon them, the Lords were rightly concerned about the future and the continuity of peace. Without an heir, chaos could easily rise up once more with distant relatives all vying for a claim of Winterfell and the North.

Jon understood why Sansa was inviting Lords to Winterfell, the logical part of him agreed that securing a marriage and producing heirs was needed in order to stop panic and to stop any possibility of yet another war over the succession.

He understood it but he didn’t have to like it.

He told himself that he just didn’t want Sansa to have yet another forced marriage. He told himself he wanted her to be happy, to be married for love and not duty. He told himself this as his eyes narrowed on the latest Lord to ask Sansa to dance. Jon picked up his tankard, glaring over the rim as he took a long gulp of ale and slammed it back on the surface with a huff. He felt Arya glance at him from her seat beside him, saw her turn her head out of the corner of his eye and his cheeks flushed as she looked at Sansa dancing and then back to Jon.

“You know a good way to stop others dancing with her is to dance with her yourself,” she commented dryly.

“I don’t dance,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair and huffing as Sansa was elegantly spun from one Lord to the next, her cheeks dimpling with the intensity of her smile. His hand gripped the arm of the chair as one whispered something in her ear that had her laughing. Even from a distance, he could see her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Seven hells,” Arya muttered, reaching for her own goblet.

***

“Have you decided on a husband?” Jon asked her one evening in her solar. Sansa often asks him to read over things, to get a second opinion while she works on some sewing.

She paused in her sewing, glancing at him through her lashes. He sits forward in his chair, hands flat on the table. He hadn’t realised he had been holding a breath until she slowly shook her head and resumed her work.

“There are a few I have decided I would like to get to know better though,” she said after a moment.

“Oh?” Jon replied slowly, frowning at the table.

“But I think I am also putting it off,” she continued, her fingers pausing once more as she looked at him, her hands folded in her lap. Jon met her gaze, blinking in confusion until she sighed, glancing at her lap once more. “I don’t want to leave Winterfell again.”

“Then don’t,” he said before he could stop himself. Sansa gazed at him once more, a sad smile tugging at her lips.

“You know I will have to leave to be with the husband I choose.”

Jon swallowed thickly, eye returning to the table. He wanted to tell her that if he married him, she would be able to stay in Winterfell. He would be gentle and kind to her, love her always and protect her. But just as much as he wanted Sansa to marry someone who loved her, he wanted her to love her husband too. Or at least see herself able to in the future.

Sansa stayed seated by the fire for another hour, stitching perfect patterns to her new dress. Eventually, she set it aside, putting her materials away in her basket that she keeps and rose. Jon stood instantly as well and went to offer her his arm.

They walked silently through the halls to her chambers. She turned to him, bidding him goodnight softly. Before the door closes, he puts a hand gently on the wood. Her eyes dart from it to meet his own gaze, curious and perplexed.

“Hold off a little while longer on the marriage,” he said gently, watching her eyebrows furrow together.

“Why?” she asked.

“Please,” he replied, the only thing he could possibly say. Her frown deepened and she glanced at the floor for a moment before looking back at him again, giving him the briefest of nods.

“Very well,” she agreed. “Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight,” he responded before her door clicked shut.

He let out a deep breath, a hand running across his beard as he felt his lips twitch with the threat of a smile. Hopefully, she would delay enough for him to go ahead with his plans.

***

Arya laughed herself silly when she saw him emerging from the gardens with a bouquet of blue winter roses clasped in his gloved hands. He glowered at her, trying to ignore her as she followed him.

“What?” he snapped eventually, stopping outside the main doors to look at her. She shrugged.

“Took you long enough,” she stated, passing by him and entering the castle. Jon glanced after her, huffing another annoyed breath before he followed her inside.

Sansa was sitting at the high table, breaking her fast. Ghost lay in front of the table but suddenly he was darting underneath it to take the bacon from Sansa’s hand. Jon chuckled as his wolf glanced back at him, tongue lapping at his mouth. Arya flopped into a chair next to her sister and Sansa looked up then, her eyes widening at the flowers in his hand.

“Jon?” she asked as he approached, her eyes still fixed on the bouquet in confusion.

Jon stopped in front of the table, thrusting the flowers awkwardly towards Sansa. “For you,” he murmured, glancing at the edge of the table.

Her fingers brushed his as she took them and he turned to see her eyes closed as she smelt them. She smiled, eyes opening to meet his gaze.

“Thank you, Jon,” she beamed, clutching the flowers close to her again.  “They are beautiful.”

“For a beautiful lady,” he assured her. Sansa had once told him to compliment and girl’s name and to compliment them. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling as she seemed to realise he had remembered her advice.

She rose quickly, stating that she was going to put the roses in a vase in her chambers. Jon took a seat next to Arya, reaching to start piling his plate with food when Sansa paused in the doorway and turned back towards them.

“Remember that some more Lords will be here tonight, make sure you are both presentable. I’ll tell Bran to prepare as well.”

Jon flung his bread down on the plate as Sansa left. Arya snorted next to him.

“Did you think it would be that easy?” she asked. Jon scowled, pushing back into his chair. “Jon, just tell her that you want her so we can all stop with this stupidity!”

“And if she says no?” Jon asked. “I have betrayed her trust and hurt her feelings once before.”

“You broke her heart,” Arya corrected and Jon blinked. “You did Jon. She still loves you though. You just need to tell her to stop trying to move on from you when you want her too.”

***

“Jon?!” she gasped as he entered her chambers unannounced and he realised why it was always important to knock.

Sansa scrambled in the tub, turning her back to him as she reached for a robe, hurriedly standing out of the tub and wrapping it around herself. Jon isn’t sure if the heavy breaths in the room are coming from her or himself. All he can seem to think about is the drops of water that trail down her legs, a trail Jon wanted to chase with his tongue. She inhaled sharply, turning to face him with the prettiest blush.

“What is wrong?” she asked. Jon said nothing, captivated by the way her hair is pulled up to keep it dry but some locks have escaped and now curl against her cheek and neck, where Jon wished to be. “Jon?”

“Don’t marry any of them,” he said, his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. Her arms crossed over herself as she frowned at some point to the side of her.

“Jon…”

“Marry me,” he continued, taking a desperate step towards her. She gasped, her wide eyes flying to meet his, darting over his face in search of a lie. And he hated how he has ever caused her to doubt. He crossed the floor, dropping to his knees in front of her. “Sansa, marry me, please!”

“Do you still love her?” she asked, her voice so small he almost didn’t hear it.

“I never did,” he replied. “I love you though. Let me prove it to you.”

“Are you going to beg my pardon?” she teased when he didn’t rise. He grinned up at her, hands reaching out to grasp her calves, stroking her soft skin.

“It will be you begging me, sweet one,” he whispered as his hands travelled up to her thighs, her robe parting easily to allow him access and then his right hand pressed against her sex.

She gasped and his left hand moved out and around her, holding her at the small of her back to keep her steady as he moved his fingers. She was still wet from the bath, her course hair damp beneath his fingertips. It mattered little, she would be dripping by the time he was through with her.

He glanced up at her face, smirking up at her as she gazed down, eyes wide and lips parted. He pressed his hand firmer against her thigh, silently guiding her to spread her legs further. She flushed the colour flooding the skin of her neck and she keened as his thumb pressed against her bundle of nerves.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against her shin and then up towards her thigh as his thumb continued to rub in slow, gentle circles. Sansa whimpered as his head shifted the robe once more an he could see her, smell her.

Sansa gasped, hips jerking forward as he removed his thumb and swiped his tongue up her slit. Her hands flew down into his hair and then retreated as she realised what she had done. Jon groaned, reaching blindly for her wrists and placing them back on his head, pulling back slightly.

“You can hold my hair,” he said gently, dipping down to resume his task but stopped once more when Sansa tugged him back.

“I like it,” she mumbled shyly. “But I think I may buckle if it is that good throughout.”

Jon grinned, finally lifting himself off the floor. She squealed as he slid a hand behind her knees, the other winding around her back as he lifted her bridal style. She giggled, her own arms winding around his neck as he manoeuvred them towards her bed.

He placed her down, bending to pull off his boots before he crawled on the bed beside her. He reached for her robe, glancing at her face for permission to proceed. She bit her lip but gave a brief nod of consent. He grasped the material, wrenching it apart to reveal her pliant, sweet body to his eyes. He dived down, pressing kisses up her belly and towards her breasts.

“You are perfect,” he muttered, his nose bumping against the curve of her right breast. She whimpered softly, the sound travelling straight to his cock. He brought his left hand up to cup the smooth flesh of her breast as his tongue licked around the shape of the right.

“Oh Jon!” she moaned softly as he worked her nipples into hardness. He hummed in approval, closing his lips around her right bud. She arched beneath him, a gasp escaping her and her fingers digging into the covers. He suckled gently, his fingers plucking and rubbing the other nipple as Sansa writhed and whimpered beneath him.

He pulled his mouth from her, pressing kisses along to the other as his hand stroked down her thigh, over the curve of her bum and then to her thigh. He pulled off of her breast once more, rearing up to kiss her as his hand slipped between her legs to cup her sex once more.

His thumb returned to her nub, rubbing in slow circles. Sansa’s arms stretched out, her eyes drifting closed as she panted below him. Jon groaned at the sight, the feel of her hips rising to meet him.

“Is it good sweet girl?” he murmured, bending to nip at her hip. Sansa gave a sharp nod, whimpering softly as he started to increase his speed. “You feel so good. Let me touch you like this all the time Sansa.”

Her eyes opened, dark with desire and she grunted, her teeth digging into her lip when she heard the sound she had made.

“Marry me, Sansa.”

She whimpered, her fingers grasping the covers as his thumb pressed harder and he slipped a finger down to push inside of her.

“Oh! Oh, Jon!”

He pumped his finger inside of her as he kissed down her neck, her collarbone, her chest.

“Marry me, sweet girl.”

She turned her head, baring her flushed neck. He longed to lick and nip at the skin but he had his sights set on a much sweeter place. He kissed down her stomach and lifted his thumb, earning a whine from her. He pressed his tongue to her once more, her hips rising almost instantly to meet him.

He pushed another finger inside of her, moving both in a steady motion in and out of her as his tongue pressed harder against her nub. Sansa gasped, tossing her head as her body arched to meet him. He moaned at the taste of her, eyes drifting shut as a surge of wetness gushed from her and soaked his lips and chin. He pressed harder, groaning around her bundle of nerves. She keened, her hands flying down into his hair once more, pushing him harder still against her.

“Gods, Jon!”

Her fingers grasped his hair tightly, her back arching and pulling taut as her thighs tightened around his head. Jon moaned again, relishing in her climax, his name falling with a broken whimper as she collapsed back on the bed.

Jon grinned at the sight, bending to kiss her once more. She moaned softly, her hand travelling back up to his hair as she responded, parting her lips to allow his tongue to slip past and meet her own. He groaned blindly reaching for the ties of his breeches and pulling at them. He broke the kiss once more, leaning back in order to push the clothing down.

“Is this alright?” he asked suddenly, when her wide-eyes fell on his cock. Her cheeks flushed slightly but when she looked up again, she gave a small nod.

“Yes,” she affirmed, sitting up to shrug the robe from her shoulders as Jon yanked his shirt off, placing it by her side and then he dug his fingers in her hair once more to meet her in another kiss.

Sansa fell back against the furs with a soft moan and Jon reared up again, his hands moving down to stroke up her legs as he shifted them, parting them enough for him to slide between. He groaned as he gripped his cock and ran it up and down her slit before moving down and pushing inside of her.

Sansa gasped, the sound trailing into a groan as he filled her, her hands clutching his shoulders and her legs tight around his waist.

“Alright?” he asked breathlessly, overcome at the wet heat that gripped him. She nodded, her eyes dark with desire. He hummed, pressing a hand to the bed to angle himself better as he started to move.

Her eyes fluttered shut once more, breathy little whimpers escaping her that drove Jon wild, made him move faster and harder, rising his body to make his groin bump against her nub. Sansa moaned, nails digging into his skin. He growled at the feeling, his right hand reaching down past her stomach and down to rub her bundle of nerves while he ducked his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Oh Jon!” she keened, hips rising faster in desperate need to meet her release. Jon groaned, pulling off of her chest.

“Marry me,” he whispered as he kissed up to her mouth. “I want you like this, every day. I want to touch and kiss your cunt for the rest of my days.”

“Jon!” she cried, her body trembling beneath him. He grinned, nipping at her bottom lip.

“I want to love you every night just like this, I want to be able to spill inside of you and have my child grow inside of you,” he muttered, a desperate moan escaping him as he felt himself approaching his end. She was close too, he could feel it. “They won’t take you from me Sansa. You’re mine, you’re mine! Marry me, sweet girl! Marry me!”

She cried out his name once more, her back arching and her head falling back as she reached her peak. Jon moaned at the feel of her around him, at the way her body slumps back against the bed, her eyes blinking up at him and still dark with want. Jon pumped into her a few more times before he pulled out, spilling across his shirt.

“Yes,” she mumbled softly, her chest still heaving. Jon raised his head and she grinned at him, her eyes opening again to meet his. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Oh Sansa,” he sighed happily, rearing up to kiss her, hands grasping her hair to pull her close. She giggled as they parted, her eyes sparkling as she bit her lip.

“I was always going to say yes,” she teased, her lips pressing against his jaw as she gave him another smile. “I just liked to torment you.”

“Wicked girl,” Jon grumbled, even as his own lips twitched at the thought of her teasing him. He pressed himself against her, grinning as she gasped at the feel of his hardness against her once more. “Perhaps I should teach you some manners.”

“Of course,” she said demurely, fluttering her eyelashes as she grinned up at him. “Husband.”


End file.
